


Because It's Sam

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, First Time, Insecurity, M/M, Riding, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 15:00:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3614256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is not afraid. He isn’t damnit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because It's Sam

Dean is not afraid. He _isn’t_ damnit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s bottomed, hell it’s not even the first time he’s bottomed for a guy, but it is the first time he’s bottomed for Sam. And sue him if he’s nervous, okay?

Truthfully, if anyone had told him that his little brother was such an aggressive lover, he probably would’ve laughed. Sammy? Puppy-eyed, gentle-giant Sam? Yeah, sure, okay. Except, well, he is. Thorough, possessive kisses, hands that like to trap Dean’s own above his head, like to jerk his legs up around Sam’s waist so Sam can grind them together. Fuck if it isn’t hot as hell, too, but that doesn’t mean Dean’s ready to have his ass reamed by his little brother.

Sam is patient as always and Dean is grateful for that. He doesn’t pressure him, doesn’t ask after the first resounding “No” that Dean gives him the first time Sam’s fingers dip down to trace his hole. That doesn’t stop Dean from feeling slightly guilty, either, and right now, wrapped up in Sam’s arms and still warm from his last orgasm, he murmurs a quiet “M’sorry, Sam.”

His brother stiffens a little behind him. “For what, Dean?”

"For not bein’ ready to…you know," he says, waving his hand and feeling his cheeks heat.

Sam huffs a laugh and presses a kiss to Dean’s neck. “Nothing to be sorry for, Dean. You’re not ready, and that’s okay. I mean… You’re still enjoying this, right?” he asks, suddenly sounding a little worried.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean says, giving one of Sam’s hands a reassuring squeeze, not quite willing to give up their comfortable spoon in favour of rolling over. "I’m good, just not ready, like you said." He shifts back just a little further into Sam’s hold and let’s himself doze, content and relieved when Sam drops off as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple weeks later, they’re taking some downtime between hunts, and Dean is straddling Sam’s waist as they make out, slowly rocking their hips together. It’s a low, slow burn, the kind they don’t often have the time or patience for and they’re both relishing in it. Clothes are shed piece by piece, Dean only rolling off Sam to kick his pants and boxers to the floor.

Sam sits up against the headboard and pulls Dean onto his lap, wrapping one arm around his waist and threading the fingers of the other side into Dean’s hair. Dean gasps as his head is pulled back, giving Sam room to pepper kisses and bites down his neck, and to suck hickies into the skin along Dean’s collar bone.

"Fuck, Sammy," he pants, clinging to Sam’s arms, his cock grazing along Sam’s abs as he thrusts helplessly. "Oh, God fuck me." 

There’s a moment where those words hang tensely over them, Dean dizzy with lust and shock, Sam frozen in surprise. It’s shattered in an instant when Dean rocks his hips again, dragging his cock along the precome-wet trail already slick on Sam’s belly. Sam groans, his hands dropping to cup Dean’s ass and allowing one finger to skim in between the cheeks as his hands hold Dean open. 

Shivery pleasure curls through Dean, and he finds himself rocking back against that finger only for it to be gone in the next instant. Sam’s leaning over, holding Dean tightly in place so he doesn’t slip while he rummages through the duffle next to the bed. The cap on the lube clicks open and shut, and that finger is cool and slick when it returns to tease at Dean’s hole.

"You’re sure?" Sam pants, even as his finger tip penetrates Dean and thrusts shallowly. 

Dean’s eyes drop to meet his brother’s gaze. There’s concern mixed in the lust in Sam’s eyes, something tender and loving that would make Dean blush if his face wasn’t red already. 

” _Please,_  Sam.”

After that, he can only pant and gasp as Sam stretches him thoroughly, shushing the pleas and soothing the cries until he deems Dean ready. More lube goes on his cock, and Dean is pressed close enough to feel the hissing breath Sam sucks in through his teeth. 

The burning stretch of his brother’s cock steals the breath from his chest and all the sounds from his lips save for a tender whine low in his throat. He’s trembling as Sam helps guide him down, steadying and slowing his descent so the burn never flares into pain. Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s shoulders, dropping his head into the cradle created by one and the side of Sam’s neck. 

"Sam," is the only thing he needs to say before Sam is helping him rock up and down, rhythm slow and shallow. Sam lets his hips go once he starts to speed up, wrapping those strong arms around Dean to hold him close. Just when his thighs start to burn from the effort, Sam start’s thrusting his hips, fucking up into Dean.

"Fuck that’s good," Dean pants, hot against his brother’s neck. 

Sam just laughs and slides one hand down to wrap around Dean’s cock. It has to be the one he used to prep Dean, the slight tack and slide of lube on his fingers creating an odd gritty-smooth drag until precome pushes it into an easy slide. Looking down, Dean can see how tight Sam’s stomach is, can feel the stutter in his hips just before Sam comes, and the slick heat inside him makes him groan.

A slide up, a twist over the head, and Dean is coming too, spilling on their bellies and Sam’s fist. His body tightens, pulses and makes the thick cock inside him feel impossibly hard and large. Combined with Sam’s still-moving fist, the sensation drags the orgasm out into something painfully good.

Dean is ready to protest when Sam finally lets go, wiping his hand on the sheets. Big hands stroke over his back and he can’t help but relax into the hold, even if sweat and come are threatening to stick them together.

"So. Good, huh?" Sam finally asks, mouthing at Dean’s sweaty temple.

"Don’t get smug," Dean quips tiredly. Then, "Thanks, Sammy."

"Sure, Dean."


End file.
